Old Friends, New Enemies
by starrrz
Summary: When a reunion with an old friend is forced upon him, Vlad gets more than he bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

"Ah!" Pyotr protested, and it was to his credit that he didn't shrink back under the glare Vlad fixed him with in response. A family could fall from favour just as easily as they could rise to it.

Pyotr wetted his lips nervously. "Apologies, your Grandness, but the Dracule seal will not prove binding."

Vlad raised an eyebrow, Dracule was all but the greatest figure in vampire history. Pyotr flipped hurriedly through one of the many tomes piled around his desk, pushing it towards him when he found the explanation he was searching for.

"I know it is most irregular, but the first council decreed that any change in vampiress rights could only be validated by the Countess's seal."

"Dracule had her executed before the formation of the first council," Vlad said, more a question than a statement.

Pyotr shifted uncomfortably. Vlad should have known - the interfering old swine had managed to hold up every piece of legislation he had worked on, irrespective of the fact he had been dead for millennia.

"Nobody has tackled the issue before now," Pyotr went on, carefully voiding his tone of any personal feeling on the subject. "However, my research suggests that the seal ring was stripped from the Countess and remained within the Dracula family."

Vlad took the parchment Pyotr offered him, studying the line drawing of the ring with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"If your Grandness knows its location, I will fetch it immediately."

Vlad waved a hand in dismissal, waited for Pyotr to leave before giving into the urge to heave a sigh.

He didn't have a clue where the ring was.

But he knew where to find it.

* * *

Stokely hadn't changed.

At least not on the surface.

As Vlad walked through the streets which had once been so familiar he was struck by each and every difference. Every reminder that he no longer belonged there. That he never had in the first place.

Mrs Branagh gasped audibly when she answered the door, and Vlad tried not to let his own shock show at how much older she looked, and how muted and drab the house now was. The atmosphere felt strange, unwelcoming, and as he was pressed into a seat by the fire Vlad wondered for the first time what he looked like to the uninitiated.

No one in his own world would even dare to meet his eye without his express permission.

"Your hands are freezing," Mrs Branagh fussed, unaware, and wrapped them around a mug of sugary tea. "You look so pale. Tired. I hope you're not overdoing it."

Mr Branagh said nothing, only eyed him suspiciously over the edge of his newspaper, then left the room when Vlad asked after the twins, and after Chloe.

"Don't mind him," Mrs Branagh said. "Robin would so loved to have seen you."

For a moment Vlad was in another time and another place, surrounded by dusty unwanted boxes, watching the undisguised awe on Robin's face as he recounted the tale of the tragic Countess Dracule.

"You can have it if you want," he had said, just like that, thrilling when Robin took the ring from him.

He had been an idiot.

In the present Mrs Branagh handed him photographs and spoke of a man he had never known. Because the Robin in his imaginings was forever fourteen years old, smart business suits and responsibility had never entered the equation.

"He works so hard," Mrs Branagh told him, voice full of pride. "He's such a good boy."

It didn't sound like this Robin had much in common with the one he had once been foolish enough to call a friend.

The visit didn't last long, not really, and it was as he was leaving that he realised the major source of his discomfort.

"Robin says garlic is good for the lungs," Mrs Branagh said fondly, rearranging the display slightly. "He's always thinking of us."

Vlad offered a tight smile and escaped into the embrace of the cold night air.

It made everything at once easier and more complicated.

Robin remembered.

* * *

Pyotr made no mention of the missing seal ring at the dawn debriefing, and Vlad was glad. He had no reason for putting off the encounter. No justifiable reason.

All day he tossed and turned in his coffin, beset by thoughts he ordinarily refused to acknowledge.

He thought of the first breather to die by his own hand, and of the terror in Bertrand's eyes behind a mask of indifference. He thought of inhuman screams as he stood unflinching at dawn executions, and the sickening crunch of bones snapping under his fingers.

Worse still, he thought of the snatched moments of contentment. The elation the first time Erin had spoken to him - lied to him - of love and commitment, and the soft press of lips against his known when it felt like pain and violence would be all he'd ever experience. The timid linking of ink stained hands, and of grand passion before reality left it decayed and ugly.

He thought, for the first time in years, of how things might have been different. How he might have been different, had Vladdy Count not had to be sacrificed to Vladimir Dracula.

He would have been the one with the smart suit and the smile, hands unstained by the blood of others. He would never have signed death warrants, or denied mercy. He would have had a soul, perhaps even a reflection.

He might even have been happy.

Vlad forced the idea from his mind. Gave orders and convinced himself it was satisfaction he felt, at the way the masses simpered and trembled at the sight of him. He didn't need anything more, didn't want it.

He would retrieve the ring, and that would be the end of it.

* * *

Robin was easy to track down, almost too easy, and Vlad stood skulking in the shadows for longer than was necessary, watching.

The photograph hadn't done the other man justice and, as Vlad followed him from a sleek office block through dank side streets, long buried memories of trading secrets and sharing experimental kisses assaulted him.

He ought to play it safe, he knew. Pretend to be an old school mate who happened to catch the same bus, or turn up at Robin's doorstep and play the role of long reunited best friends.

Else he ought to just capture Robin's gaze, leave him incapable of repeating anything suspicious about the encounter to anyone. He could do anything, Vlad thought, stomach twisting, and nobody would ever be any the wiser.

In the end vanity won, head full of fanciful notions as he landed in front of the man, all for the look on Robin's face.

A hundred possible reactions had played through his mind, from Robin swooning like a sheltered heroine, to Robin delivering a fist to his nose. Or, at the very least, attempting to.

The one he wasn't prepared for was the weight of a stake and the sharp press of something against his neck, followed by darkness.

* * *

He came back to awareness slowly, blinking painfully at bright strip lighting in an otherwise sterile room, his wrists bound uncomfortably with UV cuffs. Bars buzzed around him; they weren't taking any chances.

The thought was enough to shake off the lingering muzziness. He had been about to speak to Robin, anything could have happened -

"I think it's awake," a voice murmured, and Vlad's vision fixed on the men sat in front of him. First the speaker, sandy haired with his tie loosened, and then the other who was calmly finishing a phone call and looked for all the world like the whole situation was beneath him.

Vlad snarled, in spite of himself, at the indignity of it.

"You're working with the guild," he accused, weighing up his options. Their truce was only ever tenuous.

The light haired man scoffed, riling Vlad further. "Those amateurs couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery."

He had a point, Vlad conceded.

Robin coughed, enough to make the other man look sheepish, and scarcely spared Vlad a glance as he set up the recording device on the table between them.

"Interview commencing at 21:14..."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! :)_

* * *

"For the benefit of the tape," Robin was saying dispassionately, "I am showing the suspect exhibit B."

Vlad concentrated on keeping his fangs back. It had been so long since anyone had had the nerve to directly challenge him.

"Are these, or are these not the contents of your pockets?" Robin's colleague asked.

Neither man had bothered to tell him their names, or what was happening. Vlad shifted, temper flaring, and when the unnamed man tipped the contents of the clear plastic bag unceremoniously onto the table he found himself hissing,

"Do you not know who I am?"

"Our worst nightmare?" The man asked sarcastically. "The demon of the night? The scourge of old London town? Don't bother, we've heard it all before."

Vlad opened his mouth to protest, to show them exactly why even those who had most doubted now bowed to him with reverence.

Something stopped him.

Telepathy had never been his most honed skill, but even he could tell there was something different about the message being relayed to him. It wasn't probing, knowing. It felt more like a projection, its source unmistakable.

Robin's expression hadn't changed, there was no clue hidden in his stance, or the way he laid his pen calmly down in front of him. The warning was clear all the same.

_Keep your mouth shut_.

* * *

"As outlined in the new ordinances, vampires must carry their papers at all times. A thorough search of your person failed to reveal said documentation."

There was a lot he wanted to say on their interpretation of stop and search, but for now Vlad remained silent. His personal guard were getting anxious, reaching out to him, and Vlad sent out reassurances. He was in no immediate danger.

All he really wanted were answers, but it didn't look like any were going to be forthcoming any time soon. He wanted to know who Robin was working for, how he had got mixed up in it. Why he was so intent on Vlad keeping quiet.

"We could have you defanged for that alone, you know," the light haired man picked up, oblivious. "Without the attempted draining."

Vlad glared back levelly, reveling in the way the other man looked away, disconcerted.

Robin seemed entirely unaffected.

"You're wasting nobody's time but your own," Robin said, and it might have only been his imagination, but when their gaze met Vlad was sure Robin was trying to tell him something.

The interview went on, Vlad trying to work out what exactly it was that was going on. Robin knew exactly who he was, of that much he was certain.

Everything else was a mystery.

* * *

Hours had passed by the time he found himself back on the streets, his belongings back in his pockets and a neatly stamped card telling him he was to report to Guild Agent 2064 to have his papers checked.

He didn't need to check to know that there was no Agent 2064. He knew everything there was to know about the Slayer's Guild, and its staff structure. He wanted to talk to Robin, wanted to throw his weight around and demand answers.

But he had underestimated once already.

Preparation would be the key to success. It always was. He deliberately refused to think about where he had learnt that truthism.

The skin of his neck still felt tender and, because he had learned to trust no-one, when his debriefings were finally over he summoned Ingrid, and allowed her to peer at the mark before calling for his physician.

"If it is the guild's doing, I can have them wiped out by this time tomorrow."

Vlad smirked to himself at his sister's over confidence, but said only,

"You will do what I tell you."

Ingrid scowled, temper flaring though she managed to keep it in check. She watched as the doctor poked and prodded, and smiled gleefully at the hiss of pain he couldn't quite conceal when what had to be the real purpose of the night's adventures was extracted.

"I want this tested," Vlad said when the doctor handed it over to him. It was tiny, obviously electrical. "I want to know what it does, and why they're using it."

Who they were was probably a better place to start, but he didn't want to sound clueless in front of someone who wasn't family.

Ingrid returned an hour or so later, dropping a report to his desk which Vlad instantly snatched up. Instead of simply leaving Ingrid grinned at him,

"I just want you to know that this has been the best night of my unlife."

As he skimmed through the report it quickly became clear why. It was unethical, dangerous and humiliating.

And, worst of all, he didn't even have the seal ring to show for it.

* * *

There wasn't time to make any further inquiries. His aides too busy were flapping about in any case, desperately trying to get embassy offices ready for the latest saga in the campaign for peaceful co-existence.

The slayers who arrived for the summit lacked any sign of the enthusiasm these talks had once engendered, and as they took their places around the table it was clear both sides felt they were only going through the motions.

Vlad remained quiet for the most part, waiting for the right opportunity. It came when the meeting adjourned for refreshments, and Vlad let himself wallow in a moment of petty victory when he succeeded in creeping up on Jonno quietly enough to cause him to spill coffee everywhere.

"Nice spread today," Jonno said, all false smile as he dabbed at his jacket with a paper napkin.

Vlad nodded, gave a smile of his own. It was the smile Bertrand had taught him to think of as his diplomatic smile. Bertrand would have been proud to know that it had never failed to have the desired effect.

Jonno swallowed audibly, would have babbled on to fill the silence. Instead Vlad leaned in close, pitched his voice for Jonno's ears alone as he said,

"How many of these meetings have we attended now? How many times have we been so close to signing a treaty, only for some trifling detail to ruin everything?"

Jonno nodded agreeably, but Vlad didn't miss the way he lowered his refilled coffee cup and saucer slowly to the table, as though he were concentrating intently on keeping his hand from shaking.

"Trifling details," Vlad went on, tone low and dangerous now, "like the microchipping of vampires. We're not dogs, van Helsing."

The collar and attached name tag Ingrid had left neatly wrapped for him that morning had not improved his feelings on the subject.

Jonno took a step away, and held his hands out placatingly. "That wasn't our idea," he protested. "I told them that nothing good could come of it."

"And who are they?"

Some of the other slayers were approaching now, Jonno's distress obvious. Vlad set his own cup down and snapped his fingers, his latest batch of junior advisers scurrying.

"This meeting is over."

Commotion broke out around him but Vlad ignored it.

He had more pressing business to attend to.


End file.
